STAR WARS: Episode VI - Revenge of the Jedi
by GrgBrns
Summary: Alternate telling of Episode VI, aimed at improving upon the original 1983 film. An adapted version of an early script by George Lucas was used as a base, whilst filling in missed opportunities and exploring potential storylines.
1. Prologue

**STAR WARS  
**

 **Episode VI**

 **REVENGE OF THE JEDI**

The rebellion is doomed.

Spies loyal to the Old

Republic have sent word of three

new armoured space stations

under construction. 

A desperate plan to destroy

the dreaded DEATH STARS,

and end the tyranny of the Empire,

has been put into effect. 

A group of commandos, led

by Princess Leia, has made its

way into the very heart of the Galactic

Empire in an attempt to

land on a moon orbiting

the dreaded Imperial Capitol

of HAD ABBADON …


	2. Opening - Approaching Had Abbadon

**Opening – Approaching Had Abbadon**

Hidden amongst the vast web of Imperial planets sits HAD ABBADON. The capitol of the Galactic Empire, it is covered in cities, spiked skyscrapers, and engulfed in a sticky brown haze. Orbiting the polluted planet is a small, green moon, a striking contrast to the foreboding sphere beyond.

A huge Super Star Destroyer moves toward the planet system, followed by three Star Destroyers, and many Imperial TIE fighters. The Imperial fleet passes the moon and approaches the web-like structures of several semi-completed Death Stars orbiting Had Abbadon; one is barely a skeleton. From the surface of the gray-brown planet an Imperial Shuttle Craft approaches the Star Fleet and docks in the main bay of the Super Star Destroyer.

The docking bay door slides open, revealing the Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader. From the shuttle emerges a bevy of colourful Imperial guards and Grand Moff Jerjerrod, who bows his head as Vader approaches.

"Lord Vader. The Emperor will be pleased with your return."

Vader sweeps past the Grand Moff and enters the shuttle, his jet-black cloak billowing in his wake. Jerjerrod collects himself and marches in after the Dark Lord, the imperial guards following closely.

The shuttle pilots set a return course and exit smoothly from the hangar. As the metal surface of the Imperial capitol come into focus, they pass the nearby lush moon, ENDOR. Jerjerrod gathers his courage and attempts small talk.

"The Empire plans to focus industrialisation efforts onto Endor, my Lord."

He paused to take in Vader's reaction. There was none. Now he was closer, Jerjerrod could see imperfections in Vader's towering stature. His helmet was slightly dusty, and his leather gloves had began to wear. How nice to find a flaw, he thought.

The Grand Moff continued. "The moon's resources will be stripped, it's energy gathered, and it's surface area utilised by military personnel."

Vader turned his helmeted head to face the Jerjerrod, and remarked in his deep, commanding voice; "The indigenous resistance still hold their defences against the Empire. Do not overextend with Imperial resources, _Moff_."

Jerjerrod, though frustrated with Vader's insult, held his tongue and turned his gaze towards the approaching city; the only breaks in silence being Vader's steady mechanical breathing.

The shuttle skimmed beneath the polluted clouds and approached a landing pad in the shadow of a towering black palace. Many of its triangular turrets and towers punctured the polluted atmosphere, easily dwarfing the glossy skyscrapers nearby by sheer height. This is the dreaded Imperial Palace, and the seat of the Emperor.

Vader disembarks without a moment's hesitation, sweeping through the steam of the shuttle and up the stone steps towards the wide entrance hallway, Jerjerrod marching behind him. The walkway is lined with hundreds of scarlet Imperial guards, who all snap to attention at the sound of Vader's heavy footsteps. The two Imperials enter a narrow causeway flanked by curtains of steam, billowing up from boiling lava streams running deep below the palace foundations.

They reach the colossal throne room, home of architecture long lost to the galaxy. A curved throne made of cold steel sat at the far end. Behind stretched a seven story triangular window that overlooked the murky sunset. The great chair swiveled slowly to reveal a shrouded figure hidden beneath a thick black hood. The Emperor, Supreme Ruler of the Galactic Empire and Master of the dark-side of the Force, set his amber eyes on his approaching guests.

They kneel before him. He addresses his apprentice in a low raspy tone, with a hint of condescension.

"Lord Vader, you have been away from us far too long. You seem … much weaker."

Vader remained still.

"I'm afraid that prolonged action in the Outer Rim did not _agree_ with you" he finished, with mock sympathy.

There was a slight pause. "Yes, Master."

The Emperor probed further. "We ask such impossible things of you, don't we my old friend? Perhaps it is time for a task less... _demanding_."

At this Vader stood, his fists clenched tightly beneath his cloak. "No, Master. I have all but turned Skywalker to the dark-side of the Force."

"Have you?" retorted the Emperor sarcastically, showing his yellowing teeth in a wide grin. "Young Skywalker is more powerful now than before your feeble attempts to convert him. He will be _destroyed_."

"Master, you must give me …"

The Emperor raised a long pale finger, and Vader's mechanical breathing suddenly stopped. The Dark Lord struggled silently at his suit controls, dropping to his knees as he attempted to regain airflow.

"You are weak," hissed the Emperor. "You should be grateful you are not destroyed along with your offspring."

Jerjerrod winced as Vader began to wretch uncontrollably. The Emperor lowered his finger.

"The boy is strong in the Force, stronger than I had foreseen. Only together can we destroy him now."

Vader struggled to catch his breath, returning to a kneeling position. Jerjerrod watched nervously.

"Your place is here Lord Vader. There will be no more discussion of this subject" he finished, with finality in his tone. "The boy is ours."

"Yes" replied Vader, anger bubbling in his voice. "Forgive me, my Master"

The Emperor pursed his lips. "Leave us. We have further matters to discuss."

In one fluid motion the Dark Lord stood and swept furiously from the the throne, his breathing sharp as he marched.

The Emperor watched, cackling dryly, then beckoned the Grand Moff to approach him. Jerjerrod ascended the steps to the Emperor's feet.

"Yes, my Emperor."

"Watch him closely" said the Emperor, his eyes on the spot across the hall where Vader had disappeared.

"I have suspicions of Lord Vader's motives in converting the boy." The amber eyes met Jerjerrod's, and the Moff felt all the warmth disappear from his body.

"But, in time, young Skywalker will embrace the dark side of the Force. His power belongs to me."

"As you wish, my Emperor."

. . .

High above Had Abbadon, the Imperial Fleet grows in size as more Star Destroyers and imperial transports jump from hyperspace. One ship - the shuttle Tydirium - breaks formation and enters the aerial space near the orbiting moon, Endor. The Tydirium's communicator is hailed, and an electronic voice reverberates around the cockpit.

"Shuttle Tydirium, we have you on our screen now. Please transmit your clearance codes, and confirm your cargo and destination."

The pilot of the shuttle initiates the transmission. "Transmission commencing, our cargo is parts and technical personal for the forest moon."

A pause, then the radio responds. "Shuttle Tydirium, you're cleared for landing on pad 103. Follow your present course."

"Understood" responded the pilot, removing her helmet to reveal the face of Leia Organa, General of the Alliance and Princess of Alderaan. She turns to survey the Rebel Commandos filling the shuttle, changing from imperial technician jumpsuits to camouflage gear, arming themselves with blaster pistols, rifles, and explosives.

"Looks like our intel was good Captain, are we armed and ready?"

"Yes General" replied Captain Jode, finishing his distribution of DH-17 blaster pistols and joining Leia at the front of the cockpit. He handed her a blaster, which she holstered securely. "May I speak freely General?"

Leia gave her old friend a confident smile. "You may."

"Is there any news of the rescue of Captain Solo?" He asked, cautiously.

Regret flickered momentarily in Leia's gaze, but she gathered her response assertively. "No updates yet, but Han will be back with the rebellion soon enough."

Jode looked troubled. "Look General I'm sorry to take you away from the search, but I…"

"This mission-" Leia interrupted calmly "-was my choice to lead, Captain. And I will see it through til the end."

She placed a firm hand on the Captain's shoulder and he grinned apologetically. "Out of curiosity General, who _will_ be rescuing Captain Solo?"

"My most trusted friends" said Leia, staring out into the blanket of stars beyond.


	3. Infiltration of Jabba's Palace - Part 1

**Revenge of the Jedi**

 **Act I**

 **Infiltration of Jabba's Palace – Part I**

Elsewhere in the galaxy, the last known Jedi hide from imperial clutches amongst the Outer Rim territories. The swamp planet Dagobah is home to a vast array of plants, mammals, amphibians, and reptiles with lakes, bogs, and humid forests making up their home. A dense fog covered the surface of Dagobah at all times, the very air thick with moisture.

A man sat cross-legged in a clearing, surrounded by a creeping mist. This man could sense something more in the air on Dagobah, a sensation that many of the swamp life appeared ignorant of - a pulsing heartbeat, a wellspring of power, the unseen stitching of life itself - the Force.

On a stump just in front of the man sat several mechanical parts and tools. He calmed his mind. The thin cylindrical pieces of metal began to move of their own accord, condensing into a pommel, grip, and thin-necked emitter. He picked up the instrument and inspected it carefully, adjusting an activation switch with a small screwdriver.

After a few moments tinkering he stood and held the hilt at arms length, apprehensive. Nudging a panel with his thumb, a lush green blade sprang into life, bathing the clearing in emerald light. Many reptilian eyes reflected the light back through the undergrowth.

"Good" said a voice from the edge of the clearing. "Good, yesss."

Atop a large horizontal trunk, a wrinkled creature with green skin and pointed ears watched the man examine his new weapon, which hummed as he moved the shimmering blade through the air.

"Ancient knowledge to build a lightsaber, lost it was. Only through the Force could you learn."

The man deactivated the blade and turned. Luke Skywalker, Hero of the Alliance, passed the new saber to his Jedi Master – Yoda; who turned it thoughtfully in his stubby green fingers. "Since last I saw a lightsaber, twenty years it has been." He handed the hilt back to Luke and began to shuffle his way towards his hut. "You're training, complete it is."

Luke followed, attaching the hilt to his belt. "Then I am a Jedi?" he said, tentatively.

"Ohhh" chuckled Yoda, shacking his head. "Not yet. One thing remains: Vader. You must confront Vader."

They entered the hut and the elderly Jedi climbed onto his bed with great effort. Luke draped a blanket over his frail body.

"Then, only then, a Jedi will you be. And confront him you will."

The turmoil that had been bubbling in Luke rose to a lump in his throat.

"Master Yoda... is Darth Vader my father?"

Yoda's eyes filled with weariness and compassion. An odd, sad smile

creased his face. He turned painfully on his side, away from Luke.

"Mmm... rest I need. Yes... rest."

"Yoda I must know."

The Jedi Master let out a sigh, and summoned all his strength.

"Your father he is."

Luke feels his body become numb, a deep wound re-opening inside him.

"Told you, did he?"

"Yes."

A new look of concern crossed Yoda's face. He closed his eyes.

"Unexpected this is, and unfortunate…"

"Unfortunate that I know the truth?" replied Luke.

Yoda opened his eyes again and studied his apprentice.

"No… Unfortunate that you rushed to face him... that incomplete was your training."

Yoda softened his tone. "Not ready for the burden were you."

"Well, I'm sorry," said Luke, reluctantly.

Luke's distress was not lost to Yoda. "Remember, a Jedi's strength flows from the Force. But beware. Anger, fear, aggression-" his words were cut short but a sharp fit of coughing. Luke approached his master's side, concerned.

The ancient Jedi glimpsed Luke's expression, and managed a dry chuckle. "Look I so old to young eyes?"

Caught, Luke attempted to hide his woeful look. "No... Of course not."

Yoda only finds this more amusing. "I do, yes, I do! Sick have I become. Old and weak."

He prods a wrinkled finger into Luke's chest. "When nine hundred years old you reach, look as good you will not. _Hmm_?"

His chuckles trail off briefly into wheezing breaths. He lays back down.

"Soon will I rest. Yes, forever sleep. _Earned it_ , I have."

"Master Yoda, you can't die."

"Strong am I with the Force... but not that strong! Twilight is upon me and soon night must fall. That is the way of things... the way of the Force" he finished, resolutely.

"But I need your help" Luke confessed.

A smile crept across Yoda's lips. "Know you that which you need." He coughed, his voice growing weaker. "Luke...Do not underestimate the powers of the Emperor, or suffer your father's fate, you will."

The young Jedi clung on to every word his master spoke.

"Luke, when gone am I… the last of the Jedi will you be."

He took a deep breath. "Luke, pass on what you have learned."

He wheezed as the air scraped his throat. "Luke…" The brilliant green eyes met Luke's blue, and his wrinkled lips curved into a glowing smile. "Proud of you… I am."

His breath catches and a shiver runs through the ancient green creature. The brilliant eyes glaze over as the lids close. Luke stares as the tiny body of his former master starts to disappear, the blanket eventually falling away as Yoda becomes one with the Force.

. . .

Luke wanders back to where his X-Wing waits beyond two large trees. Artoo-Deetoo - Luke's loyal astromech droid - beeps a greeting, but is ignored by his depressed master. The Jedi turns to take in Yoda's deserted hut one last time. The faint glow of the fire inside goes out, and Luke's hopes also seem a little less bright. With great effort Luke turns away, shaking his head dejectedly.

"I can't do it, Artoo. I can't go on alone."

The droid emitted a somber beep, then a serious of eager whistles.

"A message from Lando?" said Luke.

Artoo whistled a longer tune, Luke managing a smile at its conclusion.

"Yes that does sound like the tenacity of a Chewbacca Artoo, looks like we've got ourselves a rescue."

Artoo beeped in agreement. Slightly more motivated, Luke gathered his possessions and climbed the steps to the X-Wing cockpit. Artoo ascended through the astromech slot and typed a question onto the cockpit computer. Luke clipped on his helmet and noticed the message.

"I'm not sure _how_ we'll free Han Artoo, but between the pair of us I'm sure we'll think of something."

The droid beeped in agreement, and the starfighter floated gracefully from the forest floor and upwards through it's canopy. Luke took one last glimpse at the clouded atmosphere of his master's home, remembering Yoda's last tender words, then braced himself for the jump to light speed.

. . .


	4. Infiltration of Jabba's Palace - Part 2

**Revenge of the Jedi**

 **Act I**

 **Infiltration of Jabba's Palace – Part II**

The twin suns of Tatooine descend towards the smooth horizon of the dune sea, yielding the long shadows of dusk. A lonely, windswept road meanders through the desolate terrain overshadowed by a bulky sandrock structure: the palace of Jabba the Hutt, sultan of galactic crime. A tall watchtower stands sentry over the approach, along it rolls Artoo-Deetoo, followed warily by his companion See-Threepio. The golden protocol droid appears to be having some sort of tantrum.

"Of course I'm worried. And you should be, too. Lando Calrissian and

poor Chewbacca never returned from this awful place."

Artoo whistles timidly.

"Don't be so sure" retorted Threepio. "If I told you half the things I've heard about this Jabba the Hutt, you'd probably short-circuit."

The two droids fearfully approach the massive gate to the palace.

Threepio looks around for some kind of doorbell. "Artoo, are you sure this is the right place? I better knock, I suppose."

He taps the iron door with his fingers, gingerly.

Not a split second passes before he announces loudly "There doesn't seem to be anyone there. Let's go back and tell Master Luke."

He begins to shuffle hurriedly away, but a small hatch in the middle of the door opens and a mechanical arm extends; inspecting the droids with a robotic eye.

" _Tee chuta hhat yudd!"_ it barked at them.

"Goodness gracious me!" gasped Threepio at the lens now inches from his head. Carefully, Threepio pointed to Artoo, then himself.

"Artoo… Detoowha bo Seethreepiowha ey toota odd… mischka Jabba du Hutt?"

The eye looks from one droid to the other, there is a synthetic laugh then the eye zips back into the door. The hatch slams shut. Artoo beeps his concern.

"I don't think they're going to let us in, Artoo. We'd better go."

Artoo beeps his reluctance as Threepio turns to leave. Suddenly the massive door starts to rise with a groan of dust and metal. The droids turn back and face an endless black cavity. They look at one another, anxious.

Artoo starts forward into the gloom. Threepio rushes after his stubby companion. The door begins to lower noisily behind them.

"Artoo, wait. Oh, dear! Artoo. Artoo, I really don't think we should rush into all this."

Artoo continues down the corridor, ignoring Threepio's jittering.

"Oh, Artoo! Artoo, wait for me!"

The door slams shut with a loud crash that echoes throughout the now dark

passageway. Two large shapes loom out of the shadows, falling in behind the droids; baring their escape. Beady eyed and green skinned, one Gamorrean guard thumbed an axe in his belt whilst the other simply drooled. Threepio glanced quickly back at the two lumbering brutes, and then hurriedly back to Artoo.

One guard grunted an order, and the droids come to a halt. Artoo beeps nervously.

"Just you deliver Master Luke's message and get us out of here" whispered Threepio desperately. "Oh my! Oh! Oh, no."

Walking toward them out of the darkness is a humanlike alien with long tentacles protruding from his skull, sharp teeth, and blood red eyes, which widen as the sight of the droids. He is Bib Fortuna, Jabba's right-hand man.

"Die Wanna Wanga!" he enquires sharply.

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Threepio. "Die Wanna Wauaga. We - we bring a message to your master, Jabba the Hutt."

Artoo adds a series of quick beeps to Threepio's words; "…and a gift" translated Threepio.

A pause, then Threepio stared at Artoo. "Gift, what gift?"

Bib shakes his head. **"** Nee Jabba no badda. Me chaade su goodie."

Bib holds out his hand toward Artoo and the tiny droid backs away, letting out an array of protesting squeaks.

Threepio turns to the strange-looking alien. "He says that our instructions are to give it only to Jabba himself."

Bib's sly grin vanishes.

"I'm terribly sorry" Threepio remarks. "I'm afraid he's ever so stubborn about these sort of things."

Bib gestures for the droids to follow. _"Nudd Chaa!"_

The droids follow the tall, tentacled alien into the darkness, trailed by the two guards.

"Artoo, I have a bad feeling about this."

Many years before it's hallways teamed with guards and other aliens, Jabba's Palace was once a grand monastery. The droids - led by Bib Fortuna - descended the spiral stairs at the end of the corridor to a dimly lit chamber that was once a room of quiet prayer. It has since been perverted into a den of drunken villainy, accompanied by a haze of spiced perfume, illegal stimulants, and a mixture of repulsive body odors.

Some of the galaxy's foulest criminals sat in the booths around the perimeter. A gaggle of long-fingered Rodian thieves argued fiercely with a pair of rugged-looking Jawas. Three scaled Trandoshan hunters discussed their blood scores whilst a bounty hunter entertained two female musicians. A toothed frog-dog growled menacingly at the droids, as they stood dwarfed in the archway of the chamber.

Shafts of light partially illuminated the drunken courtiers as Bib Fortuna crossed the metal-grated floor to a platform, where rests the leader of this nauseating crowd: Jabba the Hutt. The monarch of the galactic underworld, the slug-like Hutt is a repulsive blob of bloated fat with a maniacal grin. At the foot of the dais sat an obnoxious birdlike creature, who let out a high-pitched cackle every few seconds. Bib approached and whispered in the slobbering degenerate's ear. Jabba laughed horribly as the two terrified droids shuffled into view before him. The chatter in the room quietened, all eyes wandering curiously to the droids in the centre of the room.

Threepio bowed politely. "Good morning."

" _Bo Shuda!"_ Jabba bellowed in a booming voice.

The droids jump forward to stand before the repulsive, loose-skinned mobster.

Threepio gestured anxiously to his companion. **"** The message, Artoo, the message."

Artoo whistles, and a beam of light projects from his domed head, creating a ten foot hologram of his master, Luke. The young Jedi towered over the gangsters, dressed in a dark tunic and wrapped in hooded cloak. He addresses Jabba in a neutral tone:

"Greetings, Exalted One. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight and friend to Captain Solo."

Jabba's eyes widen at the word _Jedi_.

"I know that you are powerful, mighty Jabba, and that your anger with Solo must be equally powerful. I seek an audience with Your Greatness to bargain for Solo's life."

The chamber echoed with resounding laughter, Jabba himself chuckled darkly.

"With your wisdom, I'm sure that we can work out an arrangement which will be mutually beneficial and enable us to avoid any unpleasant confrontation. As a token of my goodwill, I present to you a gift: these two droids."

"What did he say?" Threepio interrupted, startled by this announcement.

"—Both are hardworking and will serve you well."

"This can't be!" protested Threepio. "Artoo, you're playing the wrong message." Luke's hologram disappeared.

"That _boy_ is no Jedi" sneered a gravely voice from the shadows. Boba Fett, ruthless bounty hunter and captor of Han Solo, stepped into the light. He was clad head to foot in battle-scarred mandalorian armour and his face concealed behind a domed helmet.

Jabba grunted in agreement while Bib whispered to him again. The Hutt addressed the droids in huttnese;

"There will be no bargain. I will not give up my favorite prisoner. He will continue to suffer for his crimes. "

Jabba laughs hideously, and points a flabby arm at the droids.

"Take them to the dungeons to work. Take them to their friend _Solo_! "

The droids are hustled off towards a dimly lit doorway. Jabba's guests roar with laughter.

Threepio waves his arms in despair. "We're doomed."

. . .

Deep beneath the foundations of the Palace sat the boiler room. Filled with steam and noisy machinery, it also housed a makeshift workshop. One of the lumbering guards jabbed Artoo and Threepio towards the desk of a thin humanlike robot named Eevee-Ninedenine.

This droid was the chief technician in charge of robotic staff, and it was his job to guarantee obedience to their master. Sometimes a memory wipe or restraining bolt was enough, but other times rogue personality programming was dealt with ruthlessly. Behind the chief robot, a torture rack pulls the legs slowly off a screaming work droid. Near the door a second power droid is upside down. As smoking branding irons are pressed into his feet, the stubby robot lets out an agonized electronic scream. Artoo and Threepio cringe as the guard grunts to Ninedenine.

"Ah, good. New acquisitions" said Ninedenime in a cold mechanical drone. "You are a protocol droid, are you not?"

Threepio jumped at the question. "I am See-Threepio, human-cy..."

"—Yes or no will do."

"Oh. Well, yes" said Threepio, taken-aback.

"How many languages do you speak?" barked Ninedenine.

"I am fluent in over six million forms of communication, and can readily..."

"Splendid! We have been without an interpreter since our master got angry with our last protocol droid and disintegrated him."

Artoo beeped anxiously. "...Disintegrated?" repeated Threepio.

"Guard! This protocol droid might be useful. Fit him with a restraining bolt and take him back to His Excellency's main audience chamber."

The guard stopped staring blankly into space and shoved Threepio towards the door. Threepio flailed helplessly.

"Artoo, don't leave me! Ohhh!"

He disappeared back up the stairs towards his new master.

Artoo let out a plaintive cry as the door closes. Then he beeps angrily.

"You're a feisty little one, but you'll soon learn some respect. I have need for you on the master's Sail Barge. And I think you'll fit in nicely."

Artoo protests with a series of explicit beeps.

"For now though you'll be fitted with a restraining bolt and put to work cleaning the prison cells. Guard!"

An armored man appeared from behind the torture rack, clad in a large helmet and partial facemask.

"Fit this astromech with a restraining bolt and suction module, then escort him to the cells for cleaning."

Ninedenine gave Artoo one last look.

"And watch him for resistance."

. . .

Artoo trundled down a long corridor lined with prison cells. The internal corridors of the lower levels were damp with backed up moisture and sweat. The cells were narrow, with a simple sink, toilet, and bed-slab. Hands and tentacles hanging from the grated doors stirred and reached out as the duo passed them, cries of woe following them down to the end of the corridor.

The passageway opened out into a large cell that housed those currently undergoing torture, of which there were two occupants: a man and a Wookie. The man was framed in a dirty white shirt, stained with blood, and didn't stir from his bed-slab as they approached. The other prisoner was a towering Wookiee, who appeared somewhat damp and disheveled.

The man in the white shirt did not stir, but the Wookiee noticed their new visitors. He growled a warning and moved into the light. CHEWBACCA, co-pilot of the Millennium Falcon and resistance fighter, bared his sharp teeth.

"Settle down Chewie you big softy, it's only me and a friend." Artoo examined the guard, the inherent wit and charm in his manner suddenly familiar. The man moved the large strap of his facemask to reveal the characteristic grin of non-other than LANDO CALRISSIAN, ex-smuggler, gambler, and now Rebel infiltrator. Lando indicated to the sleeping man.

"Any chance you can get him up?" He asked the Wookie, tentatively. "It's important."

The hairy rebel barked several awakenings at the man and he stirred, turning to leer at his cellmate. "Chewie I gotta sleep pal, you know they'll…" He caught sight of Lando, and strutted purposely over to the cell door, his features now in sharp relief. The handsome face of HAN SOLO, Captain of the Alliance and ace pilot of the Millennium Falcon, seemed an echo of its former glory. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair greasy and disheveled; and the warmth of his lop-sided smirk was uncharacteristically absent.

"Well look who decided to _grace_ us with his presence!" Han's face animated in mock surprise and glee.

Lando remained motionless.

"C'mon Chewie, fetch my cloak." He bowed sarcastically, holding the trail of an invisible cape high and addressing Lando.

"Welcome the galaxy's greatest _gambler_."

Lando looked stern, a flicker of shame in his eyes. "Look Han for the hundredth time..."

"—Shut-up will ya" interrupted Han, his mock elegance replaced by aggressive sarcasm. "I get it, you miserable coward. It wasn't _your_ fault. You _had_ no choice. You just _had_ to make a deal."

Han gripped the bars suddenly and pressed his face between them, eye-to-eye with Lando. He suddenly looked deranged. "You gambled _everything_ I had to the Empire. _Everything._ "

Lando looked down at the floor, knowing the specific loss of which Han spoke.

"Han I've got a plan. It's going to get us out of here. Artoo will..."

Solo raised a hand to silence Lando's words.

"—I'm done with your conniving ways and your worthless excuse for a rescue" snapped Han. "I've been here for months, yet here you are still trying to win me back." He pointed at his old friend. "You're a greedy bastard and a second-rate pirate."

Han returned to his stone bed. "Just get lost."

There was silence for a moment, and then Chewie growled a question.

"No" replied Han. "Getting captured by Boba Fett was _not_ smart. You're no use to anyone in here you chump. I'll find a way out of this _myself_." He turned his back on Lando, who could see deep gashes through rips in his shirt.

"I'm sorry Han," uttered Lando, defeated. "I'll make this right."

Artoo beeped a saddened tune as Lando escorted him back towards the other cells to clean.

. . .


End file.
